


Heart of Clay

by goth_on_ham



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Revenge, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goth_on_ham/pseuds/goth_on_ham
Summary: Oswald said some pretty horrible things about the 'monsters' of Indian Hill during his election. One of them decides to take revenge, in the cruelest possible way. Set after season three.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Although things I write usually turn out quite differently from how they are usually conceived, I expect this will be pretty angsty and dark. This chapter isn't very explicit, but no doubt it will become so. I hope you enjoy it and will stick with it as new chapters come out.

Basil knew where he had went wrong the first time. To get a role right, to properly nail it, you needed to do more than look and sound like the person. You needed to know them. You needed to be able to get inside their head.

That meant research. 

So he spent day after day reading about Jim Gordon.

He found every newspaper article and television interview he could, and he studied them. Then, he disguised himself as a random schmo (a different one each time) and started frequenting places that Jim tended to visit. He watched him. He wanted to get a feel for how he dressed, how he talked, how he held himself. He needed to known what his likes and dislikes were, what he ordered at a bar, what sports team he supported, how he acted when he was drunk, or happy, or sad, _everything._

He’d screwed it up last time. He hadn’t done enough research. 

He couldn’t make that mistake again. 

After several weeks of cautious observation, Basil did his first real test. He transformed himself into Jim and went into a bar where he knew he would be recognised.

Jim visited it every Friday after work. Occasionally he would on Monday as well, but only if it had been a particularly rough day. However, it was Wednesday, so Basil was confident that the bar staff wouldn’t suddenly be bewildered by two Jim Gordons visiting their local watering hole.

“Hiya, detective. Your usual?” The bartender was nicer to Jim than she had ever been to Basil. He suspected that she had a crush on him. 

He was tempted to smile winningly at her and flirt a bit, but that would be out of character, so instead he just nodded with a gruff grunt of approval.

“You’re not normally here at this time.” She commented when she served him his drink, and Basil delivered the preprepared answer he had come up with earlier that afternoon.

“Had a rough day.” He replied, swirling the glass slightly and staring into its amber coloured liquid like he had seen Jim do when he was especially depressed. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it work?” 

“Yeah. You could say that.” 

It was tough to be so cold when she was so hot. But Jim was broody and miserable, and he wouldn’t take the bait. 

Sensing that the conversation, if it could be called that, was at its end, she turned around and left him in peace. Basil silently toasted to a job well done.

—

Penguin was no longer the Mayor, but he was still a powerful figure in the Gotham underworld. It seemed nothing could keep him down for long. Basil felt equal parts impressed and disgusted by the man’s tenacity. 

If it was anyone else, he could respect him for it. But Penguin was a special case.

He seemed not to care about anyone but himself. They were just pawns for him to sacrifice to get what he wanted. If the voting public had wanted him to throw his own mother under the bus, Basil had no doubt that he would have done just that. To him, Basil, and people like him, were simply objects for Penguin to use and abuse to bolster his own popularity.

When Nygma had hired him to impersonate Penguin’s father, Basil took a special, secretive sort of joy in playing a small part of Penguin’s downfall. He didn’t think too much of Nygma either, because he had once been Penguin’s friend, but he paid well and he wanted to destroy his former boss, so that was good enough for Basil.

He had asked why and Nygma’s expression had darkened. At first he had thought Nygma would say that it was none of his concern, but Nygma told him. He said that Penguin had killed the woman he’d loved, all because he had wanted him for himself. 

That description of events fit perfectly into Basil’s assessment of Penguin’s character, so he felt no reason to question it.

If Penguin had stayed away from Gotham, Basil would have presumed he was dead and moved on with his life, but that wasn’t the case. Penguin had came back and within weeks had re-established himself as the King of Gotham’s underworld. 

He couldn’t let that stand.

He couldn’t let Penguin’s crimes against the so-called ‘monsters’ of Indian Hill go unpunished.

He would be the one to break Penguin once and for all, and unlike Nygma, he would make sure that this time The Penguin stayed broken.

—

After he had decided that he needed to destroy the former Mayor, Basil had hit a brick wall. He knew the result he wanted, but he didn’t know how to get it.

Then, what Nygma had told him came back to his mind. 

Penguin had wanted Nygma all to himself, and so when his Chief of Staff had fallen in love with a woman (Isabelle? Whatever her name was.), Penguin had gone mad with jealousy and murdered her. 

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Penguin had felt something for Ed. If that story had not been enough to convince him, the photographs of the two of them together would have been. Penguin would push others out of the way to stand close to Nygma, he would wrap an arm around him, and when some disgruntled muscle had nearly choked Nygma to death at the Sirens, Penguin had cradled the other man in his arms and shook him awake. Basil hadn’t been there, but even a grainy black and white photograph in a newspaper article was enough to show the relief in his eyes when Nygma had woken up. 

Basil wasn’t entirely convinced that a psychopath like Penguin could feel love, at least not properly, but he clearly had felt something akin to it to make him act that way around Nygma.

He couldn’t very well disguise himself as Nygma (amongst other things, he wasn’t tall enough), but after some digging Basil discovered that he hadn’t been the only man Penguin had been obsessed with. 

When Jim Gordon had first made detective in the GCPD, it seemed that a fledgling mobster by the name of Oswald Cobblepot had been _very_ fond of him. People still talked about it. Their ‘favours’. They would never have dared talk of it when Penguin was in earshot, and it was always in hushed, scandalised murmurs, but Basil decided that was enough for him.

He would disguise himself as Jim Gordon, and he would break Penguin’s heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is a little shorter than I had intended, but hopefully the next part will make up for it. I have written a section of the next chapter, but this felt a better point to leave it at. Things will start to heat up in the Iceberg Lounge soon!

Basil wasn’t greeted with the warm welcome that he’d expected. When he showed up at the Iceberg Lounge, and ordered a drink, the whole place went quiet.

Suddenly, every eye was on him, and not in a good way.

“I think you’d best be on your way, sir. Unless you want Penguin to see you here.” The bartender said, after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. Even the band had stopped playing.

“That’s fine with me. As a matter of fact, I was kind of hoping to have a word with him.” He smiled roguishly, and the young man shifted. He was visibly uneasy at Basil’s response.

“Please, sir. I’ll get in trouble if he sees me talking to you.”

He hadn’t noticed it at first, but the kid actually looked a bit like Nygma. Same tall, lean build. Dark brown hair, eyes. He even wore glasses.

He wondered if there were any Jim lookalikes serving drinks elsewhere in the club.

“Yeah, yeah. Just point me in his direction and I’ll leave you alone.”

The kid swallowed nervously, then he nodded towards a flight of stairs. They were silver, elegant, and above all, pretentious. There was a door at the top of them, and along the wall a bit, there was a large window. It allowed the Penguin to survey his icy kingdom.

The curtains were drawn, so Basil couldn’t see inside. That didn’t matter, he would be there soon enough.

“Thanks.”

When he walked towards the stairs, people made way for him. He liked that. He didn’t know if it was because of Jim or Penguin, but either way, he could get used to it.

Two guards stood outside the door, and Basil expected them to give him hassle, but instead they simply told him to wait outside while they talked to the boss.

About a minute later, he was invited in by one of them.

Penguin’s office was every bit as ostentatious as he had imagined. He sat behind a beautiful, polished desk in a chair that could only really be described as a throne.

He looked well.

More than well, he actually looked kind of good.

Success agreed with him.

“Jim. Old friend. What can I do for you?” He asked. His hands were clasped in front of him, and Basil wondered if it was to stop himself for reaching for a knife and stabbing him where he stood.

He didn’t know the details why, but clearly, something he didn’t know about had happened between them. That was frustrating, but he wasn’t about to lose his nerve over a single setback. He had put too much work into this plan for that. Besides, he could improvise.

“I just came round to see your new place. I hear it’s been a big success. Congratulations are in order.” Despite his obvious anger, Penguin seemed to have no objections to the compliments. That didn’t surprise Basil. He was such a greedy little egoist that he’d probably have eagerly lapped up compliments from Lucifer himself. “You sure know how to bounce back.”

When he was finished, Penguin raised an eyebrow, then he scoffed.

“Is that it?”

“What do you mean?” Basil hadn’t expected that.

“Oh come on.” Penguin rolled his eyes then pushed himself up onto his feet. He leaned over his desk and shot him a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. Despite himself, Basil felt a little nervous. “When has Jim Gordon ever simply stopped by to say hello? You must want something.”

Basil decided a slight change in tact was necessary.

“Maybe I do.” He replied vaguely.

Penguin’s eyes narrowed into suspicious pale slits.

“Truthfully? I came to apologize.”

His eyes grew wide again.

“I screwed you over, and that was wrong. I’d like to start fresh. You’re a powerful man, Penguin, and I know now it’s better to have you as my friend than my enemy-”

“Stop!” He slammed his hands onto the desk and his guards drew their guns. Basil got nervous again.

“Hey now, no need to-” He started, but was interrupted again.

“Shut up.” The smaller man hissed, his normally pallid face pink with rage. “I should kill you. I should cut your head off and put it beside Ed in the middle of the lounge!”

Basil had seen Nygma earlier. He’d heard about it before, so it hadn’t shocked him. It was sick, but that went without saying when you were dealing with Penguin. If he had it in him to murder his father and step-family for their wealth, then of course he would do something like that to a man he claimed to ‘love’.

Basil stayed quiet, because he thought that was what Jim might do, and because, truthfully, he didn’t know what to say to calm him down.

“You want us to take him out, boss?” One of the guards offered.

“Yeah, we can do what we did to the last guy.” The other added.

Basil didn’t know what they’d done to the 'last guy’ or even who the 'last guy’ was, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“No.” Basil nearly sunk to the ground in relief. “We can’t do that. Not unless we want the whole GCPD to come down on us.”

There was a pause. An agonizing pause. Basil was fairly certain he wouldn’t be killed, but the night hadn’t gone how he’d wanted. He wanted out. He needed to think things over.

“See him out.” Penguin sat down on his throne again and the two guards grabbed him by the arms. Basil had never been so happy to be manhandled.

As Basil was dragged away, he thought he saw Penguin open his mouth to say something else. But whatever it was, he thought better of it and remained silent.

He was thrown outside and he expected the two guards to start giving him a beating, but they didn’t. Instead, they shoved him outside and instructed the bouncers not to let him back in.

That wasn’t a problem though. After all, if he wanted to get back in, Basil could just become someone else.


	3. Chapter 3

The fact that his evening had not gone as planned was humiliating, but Basil had endured his fair share of humiliation over the years. You couldn’t be an actor without a little embarrassment, without things going wrong from time to time. If he gave up after every bad review, who knew where he’d be?

He needed to work past this little bump in the road, and come through stronger because of it.

It would make his eventual victory all the sweeter.

He returned to his apartment and moulded his face back into its original form. It was easier than it had been at the start, he could do it without Strange’s gadgets. He supposed it was because his body was getting more used to its new abilities.

When he had done that, he got himself a beer from the fridge and settled down on the couch to watch a movie.

He ended up watching an old gangster flick. The acting was a bit hammy, but there was something engaging about it. The lead was a handsome, intense looking man with heavy dark eyes and a strong jaw. In the movie, there was a woman he wanted, but she didn’t want him back. He tried threatening her, telling her she’d regret turning him down, but it was no good. So about halfway through, he got an idea. He had some of his own guys kidnap the woman, rough her up a bit, tear her clothes, things like that… Then he saved her.

Of course, she didn’t know that he had been the one who had kidnapped her, she just thought he was her saviour. Needless to say, she fell for him.

–

He woke up early the next day and got to work.

The role he was about to take didn’t require as much research as Jim Gordon, because he’d be playing this one out of character anyway. Besides, while Penguin was familiar with the detective’s behaviour and mannerisms, Basil doubted he bothered to take much notice of his driver.

His name was Richard. He was married and had three kids. That much was easy to find out with a little bit of networking. He found his address through the GCPD, because of course anyone who worked closely to Penguin would have a criminal record. The bar staff? Possibly not. But the man who drove him to all his ‘appointments’? Absolutely.

Basil ambushed him as he was making his way to the car. He pulled a gun on him.

“Get into the bushes. We don’t want your wife seeing this.”

It wasn’t like she was standing at the window watching, but still. Basil wanted to be careful. Richard did as he was told. He kept his hands in the air and walked slowly towards the forestry that was beside his home.

“My wife’s at work.”

Basil took note of his voice for later.

“I want to believe you Richard, but I’m not taking any chances. If she saw us, I’d have to shoot her.”

Richard nearly lost his footing. He panicked at the threat on her safety. “Look, if this is about Penguin, I just drive him about. I don’t know nothing.”

Basil didn’t reply.

When they were quite a bit into the trees, Basil stopped and Richard stopped after him.

“Strip.” He ordered, and Richard opened his mouth to protest. “Strip or I’ll shoot you and do it myself.”

That got him to cooperate.

He made him take off all of his clothes, apart from his underwear. Then, when he was done, he shot him.

Basil thought Richard must have been telling the truth about his wife, because she didn’t run out at the sound. That was good. Basil didn’t really want to kill anyone he didn’t have to.

He weighed the body down and dumped it into the harbour.

Basil tried not to let it bother him. When he had decided he was going to do this, he had known there would have to be deaths. He told himself that since Richard worked for Penguin, he probably had it coming.

If he had a decent brain on him, he would have a good life insurance policy, so his wife and kids would be okay.

–

“You’re late.”

Penguin said when he showed up in Richard’s car, in Richard’s clothes, and with Richard’s face.

“Sorry sir.”

“Take me to the Narrows. Quickly. I can’t be late for this meeting.”

“Right away, sir.”

He didn’t take Penguin to the Narrows.

When it became apparent that wasn’t where they were going, Penguin didn’t immediately catch on. He obviously didn’t think Richard would deliberately disobey him. Instead, he seemed to think he was stupid.

“You’re going the wrong way.” He pointed out. “Or is this one of your ‘shortcuts’?”

“You could say that, sir.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Basil tried not to smile at the frustration in his enemy’s voice.

“Trust me, sir.”

Two more minutes and Penguin lost his patience. “Enough! Let me out. This is ridiculous.”

Basil stopped the car obediently and watched in the rearview mirror as his 'boss’ struggled with his seatbelt and then stormed out of the car. He was no doubt about to start reprimanding him, threatening his job, and his life, but Basil was quick. As soon as Penguin got out of the car, he followed, and he pointed a gun, the same one that had killed Richard earlier that day, right at his forehead.

First, he looked afraid. Then, he looked angry.

“How dare you.” He growled, and Basil had to admit, he almost respected that.

Almost.

He was only brave because he was arrogant, and he was arrogant because he had gotten to the top, and he’d gotten to the top by stomping on the lives of people like him.

“Get in the trunk, Penguin.” He ordered, letting himself enjoy it.

The other man’s body was tight, tight like it was taking all of his willpower not to try to rush 'Richard’. But he wasn’t an idiot.

“You’ll regret this.” He promised through gritted teeth, and Basil grinned back at him.

“I very much doubt that.”

–

Basil was tempted to drive around for a while. Maybe make a few sharp turns, a few sudden stops. However, he knew that he shouldn’t allow himself to get carried away.

He drove to an abandoned warehouse near the city limits and parked around the back of it. He opened up the trunk and grabbed Penguin by the front of his shirt.

“Move.” He said, easily pulling the smaller man out and shoving him, pushing him, towards the door.

“You’re making a mistake.”

He jammed his gun between Oswald’s shoulder blades to urge him forwards when he slowed down.

“I said move.”

“When my people find you, you and your family will be-”

A kick to his back and Penguin was sent crashing to the ground into the hard, unforgiving floor. His arms were tied behind him, so he couldn’t catch himself. His face hit the ground and blood spurted from his nose and mouth. He must have bit his tongue.

“Don’t say another word about my family.” Basil snarled, and he was impressed at himself for how genuine he sounded. He didn’t know how close Richard had been to his wife and kids, but he knew that if they were his, he would want to beat senseless anyone who threatened to hurt them.

He supposed that was why it was so easy to sound angry. Even though he was actually thrilled.

Penguin’s eyes were wide and panicked now, and Basil imagined it was because he suddenly realised that he was dealing with someone who didn’t care about his status or his power. He was dealing with someone who hated him and wanted to hurt him.

He didn’t know why yet, and he wouldn’t know for a while, because Richard was only one part of Basil’s plan. But the enmity he felt was surely transparent to him.

“R-Richard, you are clearly upset about something. Perhaps I can help. Untie me and we can-”

A kick to his gut, and then, to his leg. The injured one. Penguin screamed.

–

He beat him until he fell unconscious. By that point, he was a mess. Basil didn’t think he’d broken anything, but he couldn’t be sure.

Even if he hadn’t, he would be sore for days.

Basil took off Richard’s clothes and burned them outside as he stood in his second set. Jim Gordon’s.

He changed his face and busted in the front door. He shouted out “GCPD!”, like he had heard Jim do before. Penguin barely stirred.

“Oswald?!”

He ran towards the man he’d beaten senseless minutes before and got down onto his knees beside him. He expected resistance, but Penguin either didn’t have the lucidity to, or the strength. Basil cradled him in his arms and made sure he looked at him. He wanted Penguin to see Jim coming to his aide. He wanted him to see the concern on his face.

“Oswald… Who did this to you?!”

“Jim,” Penguin sounded like he could barely believe it. “How did you… Why are you here?”

“Nevermind that now. Just tell me who did this.”

“My driver, Richard.” He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. He cringed in pain and Basil made sure to look suitably concerned.

“Hey, don’t move. I’ve got medics on the way.”

“No, no. I don’t need them.”

Predictable. Basil had counted on him saying that. Although, if he had wanted medical attention, he’d have taken him to the hospital quietly.

“Oswald. I said stop moving.” He told him, more firmly, when Penguin tried to get up again. To his surprise, he stilled.

His face, a mess of bruises and blood and all pointy edges, seemed to soften in a way Basil wouldn’t have guessed was possible for the monster. He wondered if that meant his plan was working.

“Let me help you.” He offered, and he took a chance. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip, just barely, and wiped a little blood from it. He thought of kissing him, but he decided that would be too much too soon.

Penguin, or rather, Oswald, as he would be to him now, was rendered speechless by the tender gesture. He paused, seemingly unable to fully process it, then nodded slightly.

Basil took that as permission and scooped him up into his arms.

Oswald fell back into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

“Penguin!” She gasped, horrified. “Oh my gosh, what happened to him?”

Basil blinked. For a moment, he had forgotten all about the unconscious man in his arms. He was a broken, skinny little thing with a black heart. Not at all like the young lady asking about him.

Who was she to him?

She didn’t look like family, and she definitely wasn’t a girlfriend.

He supposed she could be a friend, but if that was the case, she was clearly all beauty and no brains.

“He was attacked. He wouldn’t go to the hospital.” Basil replied, furrowing his brow into a half convincing frown. “I didn’t know where else to take him.”

The woman stepped aside to usher him inside and she walked with him to what Basil could only assume was Oswald’s bedroom.

“Has he broken anything? What did they do to him?”

Basil didn’t think she was faking it. She really seemed to care. When he put him down on the bed, gently because she was watching, she immediately started fussing over him. She felt his forehead and his pulse, she swept some stray strands of hair from his forehead, she even undid his tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat to make him more comfortable.

“Nothing broken as far as I can tell. He named the assailant as his driver, Richard. Do you know him?”

“Not much.” She admitted, taking off his shoes. “Did you arrest him?”

“He was gone by the time I arrived. Could you describe him for me?”

The young woman’s expression darkened and Basil was taken aback by the sudden hostility he felt being projected towards him.

“Typical. You can’t count on cops for anything.”

Basil opened his mouth to defend himself, but he didn’t have the chance.

“You should go. I’ll take it from here.”

–

It stung a bit, for a pretty woman like that to not even give him a smidge of attention or thanks. He supposed that she had been upset, but still. It seemed like she must have some personal grudge against the police.

He understood that. He wasn’t too fond of the boys in blue himself, but he couldn’t very well bond with her over that while he was meant to be Jim Gordon.

Besides, he was supposed to be romancing the wretched little bird that she was so inexplicably fond of, not her. Even if that would be a far pleasanter assignment.

Regardless of her dislike for him, Basil knew he had to make a move on Oswald soon. He didn’t want to wait until he was better, because then he might bump into the real Gordon. If he did, Oswald would undoubtedly mention what had happened in the warehouse, and Jim wouldn’t understand, and everything would be ruined.

He needed to get him in bed before that, then he could make him promise not to tell. He could whisper that it would be their little secret. After that it was simply a matter of stringing him along for a while, then breaking his heart.

–

Basil called on Oswald several times when he was recuperating, but every time he was turned away by the tall redhead. He learned that her name was Ivy. Apparently she and Oswald were friends. For some reason.

It took nearly two weeks, but finally, he was allowed to see the mobster. Ivy had been about to turn him away again when Basil saw Oswald hobble up behind her and shove her aside.

It didn’t surprise him that Oswald had no idea how to treat a lady.

“Forgive Ivy, she can be a bit overprotective of me.” He said, giving her a pointed look. “We should talk. Come in.”

Ivy huffed, and it made her suddenly seem like a teenager. “You’re making a mistake, Penguin. I don’t trust this guy.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes, and that was enough to make her leave them, although she didn’t seem happy about it.

Once they were alone, Basil noticed how gingerly Oswald was moving. He probably still smarted from the beating he’d given him. As he sat down, he grimaced in discomfort, but only for an instant. It was quickly replaced with a slippery smile of paper thin cordiality. “Take a seat, Jim.”

Basil sat down in the chair facing him. He had hoped that they’d go to his bedroom, since it would be easier to seduce him there, but he knew it would be odd to suggest that.

“How are you holding up, Oswald?” He asked, keeping his tone low and gruff, because Jim wasn’t a man to freely show affection, or concern. It would have made Basil’s life easier if he was. Although perhaps Oswald wouldn’t like him so much then. Perhaps he liked him because he was a cranky bastard.

“I am doing much better now, thank you for the concern.” He sounded a touch sarcastic. “May I ask why you suddenly have such an interest in my well being?”

“We’ve got a history.”

Oswald scoffed.

Apparently that wasn’t convincing enough for him. Basil was curious about what had happened between them to make Oswald so bitter and angry at him, especially when he had once been so fond.

“I want to find the man who attacked you.”

“How noble.”

Basil found himself quickly becoming frustrated at his attitude. He hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to win Oswald over. He was doing the miserable little prick a favour by being nice. He would be wishing for niceness again by the time he was finished with him.

He thought he needed to calm himself, but then he remembered how Oswald had stilled and quickly become obedient when he had raised his voice at him in the warehouse. He’d barked at him a bit then, and if Basil wasn’t mistaken, he had seemed like he had liked it a little.

Perhaps kind and gentle wasn’t the way forward. Perhaps he needed to scold him a touch.

Perhaps Oswald got off on that.

“Well, if that’s your attitude, I suppose we have no more to discuss.” He stood up from his seat and straightened his jacket with a sharp tug downwards.

Oswald opened his mouth slightly, but no sound came out. Basil pretended not to notice.

“Good day, Mr Cobblepot.”

He turned to leave, and as he did, he felt a hand grab him by the elbow.

“Wait.”

Basil smiled to himself.

They didn’t just hop into bed after that, but once Basil had worked out what Oswald wanted, he knew it was only a matter of time.

A couple more visits, a kind word here, a stern word there, and Oswald was putty in his hands. It was quite pathetic how badly he started to want him. It was also painfully obvious.

He wondered if the real Jim Gordon had ever noticed.

The first time they kissed, Basil let his hands wander a bit. Oswald gasped as he copped a feel of his buttocks.

“Jim.” He whispered, scandalised, but clearly thrilled. He almost certainly had never been touched like that before.

Basil grinned roguishly. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

–

He decided he would sleep with him soon.

He still thought of Oswald as an ugly little creature, but when he had grabbed a handful of him, it hadn’t been unpleasant. He was odd looking, but he gasped rather prettily, and his eyes, which Basil had thought of as cold and devilishly shrewd before, were actually quite an appealing colour in the right light.

Basil had thought sleeping with Oswald would be the hardest part to stomach in his plan, but he began to find himself looking forward to it.

He began to find himself thinking about it more and more.

He told himself he had to, because he needed to work out what Oswald would like. He had to make it wonderful for him, that way it would make the inevitable heartbreak all the more unbearable.

Would he have Oswald on his stomach, or on his back?

Maybe he could persuade Oswald to ride him.

He liked that idea. He liked the thought of Oswald desperately bouncing on his cock, moaning, wailing, clinging to him like a lifeline and begging for more.

He could start like that, then grab him. He could push him down onto the bed, get him on all fours, and plow into him.

He’d be rough, but Oswald would thank him for it.

He would be crying out for more, and Basil would give him it. But only when he begged.

“Fuck.”

Basil shoved a hand into the front of his pants and began jerking off. With a thud, his back hit the wall and he leaned against it for support as he stroked himself. He didn’t have the patience to take it slow.

He kept building up speed, groaning furiously as his orgasm quickly approached.

The cum stained his pants and he felt his knees nearly give out beneath him.

He swore again.

Getting this turned on at the thought of fucking Oswald Cobblepot had not been part of the plan.

–

Across Gotham, Richard’s wife was finding out that she was a widow. Jim Gordon broke the news to her, and he hated that it had to be him. Telling someone, anyone, about the death of a loved one never got any easier.

Yet he did it anyway, because he didn’t trust the others to be sensitive about it. He wasn’t the most tender of guys, but he knew what it was like to lose someone close. He didn’t want to make it worse on her by having some apathetic schmo be the one to tell her.

“How’d she take it?” Harvey passed him a polystyrene cup of instant coffee.

Jim needed it, even if it tasted like crap.

He shrugged. Of course it hadn’t went well, because it never did.

“I guess we need to go talk to Penguin, huh?”

“The victim was his driver, it’s not unlikely he knows something.”

“Maybe he took a wrong turn when he was driving him or something.”

Jim smiled humourlessly. He wouldn’t put that past Oswald, but something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t help but think there was something else going on behind the scenes.

Maybe it was intuition, or maybe it was a vain hope that a father of three hadn’t lost his life over something so petty as taking a wrong turn.

Whatever it was, he wouldn’t know for sure until he spoke to Oswald face to face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update.

It turned out that Oswald had some good stories. His conversation was interesting, and he was always a gracious host who offered ‘Jim’ good food and drink. Unlike Jim, Basil didn’t actually care much for whiskey, but he could stomach the expensive stuff that Oswald gave him.

What’s more, whenever he visited, Oswald always seemed so pleased to see him. When he talked, Oswald always looked interested. Basil actually had to remind himself from time to time that this would be over soon. It wasn’t real. He was only doing it to break the bastard’s heart.

The fact he had to remind himself of this disturbed him, but the fact he spent increasing amounts of time when he wasn’t by Oswald’s side thinking about him disturbed him more.

He had spent so long hating him, he didn’t understand how he could now be falling for him. What was wrong with him?

He supposed it didn’t matter too much what he felt, as long as his resolve held and he went through with his revenge. He couldn’t quit now. He had already killed someone over it, and it wasn’t as if he could go on pretending to be Jim Gordon forever.

Besides, he didn’t really have a choice. If he stopped and simply went away, Oswald would still end up heartbroken.

The only sensible thing was to keep going forward and make his revenge complete.

Basil put down his glass half finished, and Oswald blinked at him curiously as the base clunked against the table.

“Is everything alright, Jim?” He asked, with a soft sort of smile. With the light of the fire flickering on his face, brightening up his eyes, he almost looked sweet. He was wearing a dark gray pinstriped suit and his hair was combed back in a sort of quiff. He had been interviewed for the evening news earlier, something about the Gotham club scene, and so he had made himself up to look more ‘respectable’. Like he had when he was running for Mayor. Basil didn’t see the point when everyone knew what he usually looked like anyway, but he didn’t dislike the look on him.

“Fine.” He replied, realising that he had started to get lost in his thoughts. “Everything’s fine.”

“You looked like you were a million miles away. I hope I wasn’t boring you.” There was a hint of vulnerability in the question. Oswald disguised it as a joke, but Basil had grown to recognise it.

“Not at all.”

Oswald’s shoulders loosened and he sighed in relief. Basil’s eyes drew over the outline of his body, then over the creases and folds of the suit. He was imagining what he looked like underneath all that expensive, perfectly tailored fabric. It wasn’t the first time he’d imagined it.

In fact, he was imagining it with shorter and shorter intervals in between. He needed to do something about that, and soon.

Surely he had waited long enough.

“You look tired.” He said to Oswald, teasing him a little, but also hoping that he took the hint that they might go to the bedroom.

“I’m fine.” Oswald replied, and Basil realised that he might have taken that as him asking if Oswald wanted him to leave. He needed to clear that up.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your bed if you’re exhausted.”

“No, no. I would like to talk to you some more.” He blushed after he said that, then cleared his throat. “That is… If you aren’t tired.”

“I am a little.”

Oswald was disappointed for a moment, before he quickly masked it. “I suppose it is getting late…”

“Maybe we could go to bed together. Talk some more.” The pinkness of Oswald’s cheeks grew deeper, or maybe it was just the fire. Basil smiled. “I mean, if you wouldn’t mind that.”

Oswald’s eyes were wide and Jim was certain now that the blush wasn’t just the light of the fire playing tricks on him. He nodded enthusiastically. “I would like that very much.”

Basil didn’t have nightwear with him, but when they went upstairs, Oswald offered him some. He was about to take it, when he realised that was foolish.

“Nah, I’ll just sleep in my boxers.”

Oswald looked as though he was struggling to keep his composure. Basil smiled roguishly, knowing full well that would only make it harder on him.

“Is that okay?”

Oswald gulped, then nodded again. “Yes… I, uh… I have no objections to that.”

Basil began unbuttoning his shirt. “You know, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pressure you. I meant what I said. It would be nice to talk some more. We don’t have to do anything.”

However, he fully expected them to do more than talk.

“I appreciate that, Jim…” Oswald’s hands fidgeted with each other anxiously. Or was it excitedly? “I admit, this is all rather new to me. Even as a child, I never had sleepovers.”

“Really?”

“No. In fact, the only person I’ve ever shared a bed with is my mother.” Basil must have let his face betray some amusement at that, and Oswald lowered his eyes sheepishly. “I know. It must seem pathetic to you.”

“It doesn’t.” He reassured him, although truthfully, it was a little pathetic.

“I mean, you’re Jim Gordon. You must have shared your bed with so many beautiful women and here I am, around the same age and I haven’t even…”

Oswald was rambling, and then his voice trailed off at the end. Basil took that as his cue. He stepped in close to him and placed a hand on his cheek. Oswald looked up at him, almost seeming starstruck. He exhaled shakily.

“I’m sorry.” He said, barely above a whisper.

Basil stroked his thumb over his cheekbone. “For what?”

“I don’t know. Everything, I suppose.”

“It’s okay.” Basil kissed him.

Of course, it wasn’t okay. The things Oswald had done couldn’t be fixed with an apology, but for this one night, Basil decided to forgive him. He wouldn’t fuck him roughly like he had fantasised about, he wouldn’t tug his hair and call him degrading names. He wouldn’t wrap his hands around his throat, choking him, calling him what he was. A monster, a snitch, a coward, a psychopath. He would make love to him, because it would make what was to come next all the more heartbreaking, and because he wanted to.

Despite how wrong it was, he really wanted to.

–

Basil woke up the next morning with Oswald curled up against his chest. After they had finished, Oswald had insisted on dressing again. He said he didn’t mind if Basil didn’t, but personally, sleeping naked was something he just couldn’t bring himself to do.

Basil had slipped his boxers back on but left his undershirt off. When Oswald had gotten his pyjamas on, Basil drew him into an embrace, and the smaller man had fallen asleep almost immediately.

It took Basil much longer, and when he did sleep, it was light and fitful. He had troubling dreams.

He dreamed about Richard, or more accurately, he dreamed about his wife, now a widow, and the three kids that had been robbed of their father. He saw them waiting for him to show up, the children fighting with other children at school because they told them their dad would soon show up dead, and his wife calling up everyone, asking if they’d seen him.

Basil’s father had been out of the picture for most of his childhood,but if he had heard he had gone missing, he knew that he would have been devastated.

He wondered if Oswald was ever troubled by bad dreams. He had left far more than one family without a husband and father.

He doubted it. After a certain point, surely you started not to think about those things anymore. Otherwise it would drive you insane.

Oswald had been so tender the night before. In those moments, he had been almost unrecognisable as the villain that Basil had seen on television and newspapers, calling for the Indian Hill 'monsters’ to be rounded up.

Then he had cried Jim’s name out softly, and Basil remembered why he was there. To break his heart.

He got out of bed, careful not to wake him, and got dressed. He planned to leave immediately, but when he reached the foot of the stairs he saw the tall redhead walking through into the kitchen. She heard him and looked up at him on the stairs. Her eyes immediately narrowed. Basil had never managed to get her to like him.

“Morning.” He said, a little awkwardly. Ivy ignored him and continued into the kitchen.

When he reached the foot of the stairs, he could hear talk coming from that room. Curiosity got the better of him and he glanced in, as sneakily as he could.

Ivy was talking to a man with white hair and a metal suit. Just looking at him made Basil feel cold.

He recognised him from Arkham. His name was Fries. He was one of the people reanimated by Strange at Indian Hill. Basil didn’t understand why he was in Oswald’s house.

“I don’t trust him.” Ivy said to Fries, folding her arms across her chest and huffing in a curiously childish manner.

“If Penguin likes him, what’s the problem?” Fries replied, not seeming too concerned. “He can handle himself.”

“Can he though? You know what Pengy is like when he falls for someone. He goes all soft in the head, which means we have to look out for him.”

Basil couldn’t imagine Oswald appreciating being called 'Pengy’.

“Do we?” Fries shrugged as much as his suit would allow. “He won’t like that.”

“Of course we do. He’s our friend.”

Basil suddenly felt overcome by a wave of confusion. He had known Ivy considered Oswald a friend, but Fries? After all Oswald had done to their kind?

It didn’t make any sense.

“I suppose you’re right.” Fries replied, but Basil barely heard it. His mind was racing. He felt strange. He needed to get out.

He forgot about being quiet and ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Less than a minute later, unbeknownst to Basil, there was a knock at the front door. It was Jim Gordon, the real Jim Gordon, and he had some questions to ask Oswald.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect this is the second last chapter.

“What’s the matter? You forget your badge or something?”

Jim didn't expect to be greeted with sunshine and warmth when he turned up at Oswald's mansion, but the obvious hostility that he was met with took him slightly by surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have, he hadn't seen Oswald since the Tetch incident, and he hadn't apologised for Fish.

It had been an accident, but he knew that wasn't a good enough excuse for Oswald. Especially when Jim hadn't offered it up as an excuse. He hadn't said anything about it, because he didn't think there was a point. Oswald wouldn't forgive him, and what could he do with the forgiveness of such a notorious criminal even if he got it?

It was right that they weren't on good terms. Even though the current state of things nagged at Jim, attempting to make peace with Oswald seemed directly opposed to everything he was fighting for in Gotham.

“I’m here to ask Penguin some questions. Is he in?” 

He didn't understand the redhead's pointed comment about his badge, but he chose to ignore it. He was here to see Oswald, picking an argument with one of his friends was a waste of time.

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You know that he is.”

Jim frowned. Then he entered the household, somewhat tentatively. “Thanks.”

He expected Oswald to appear in the hallway at any moment. He would be angry, and surprised, and hiding those resentful feelings behind a deliberately unconvincing smile and caustic sarcasm. As much as Oswald hated him now, Jim had noticed that he still seemed eager to engage with him. He had never been able to simply refuse to see him. Jim didn't really understand why. He supposed it was his ego. Oswald couldn't pass up an opportunity to show off his success. 

A few more moments passed, and there was no Oswald. 

He looked over at the redhead, who sighed in exasperation. “What?”

“Where is he?” He asked, growing increasingly irritated at her attitude, and if he was being honest with himself, he was also irritated that Oswald hadn't appeared in the hallway as he had expected. 

“In the bedroom, where you left him.” She said it like it was obvious, but Jim had no idea what she was referring to.

“What are you talking about?” 

“God, you must be simple or something. I said-”

“Ivy, how many times do I have to tell you to be nice?” Oswald’s voice called from the top of the stairs. He had a dressing gown on, and pyjamas, and Jim had never ever seen him so domestic. It wasn't just the clothes. It was the look on his face. There was no spite or malice present on his features, and Jim found himself completely bewildered at the warm smile he gave him. He didn't remain at the top of the stairs for long, but instead walked down them to stand opposite him. He stood closer than Jim expected.

Ivy let out a disparaging huff and turned heel to leave. She stormed off with all the maturity of a thirteen year old, but Jim barely noticed.

“I have some questions for you about your driver.” He decided to get straight to business, and for some reason a nonplussed expression passed over Oswald's face.

He covered it quickly with a slightly anxious smile. Jim concluded that meant he knew something. He was probably surprised because he hadn't expected people to come asking questions about Richard. Clearly, Oswald had forgotten who he was.

“My driver?”

“Yes, your driver. He was murdered. I thought you might know something.” 

Oswald was no longer looking at him with confusion, he was looking at him like he was speaking Martian. He frowned and tilted his head to the side, his brow crinkling slightly and his lips tight. “You are talking about Richard?”

“Yes. Richard. Someone murdered him, Oswald.” 

Was Oswald feeling well? He was acting strange. It was as if there was something he knew that Jim didn't, as if Jim had missed something obvious and Oswald couldn't understand why. 

“Jim, my dear…” Before Jim could stop it, Oswald placed a hand on his arm with marked tenderness. “Are you feeling quite well?”

The action threw Jim, unnerved him, and he pulled away from Oswald with one jagged movement. Rather than look amused at causing him discomfort, or annoyed at his over familiarity being rejected, Oswald looked taken aback, then hurt.

“What is it? What did I-” He started but Jim didn't let him finish. He wanted answers.

“What the hell is going on, Oswald?” He demanded, raising his voice a little more than he meant to. 

“I don't understand.” The smaller man stammered, and Jim nearly believed him.

“Well, that makes two of us. First your friend answers the door and acts like I’m a regular here, now you're acting like…” He knew what he meant to say but he didn't want to, it was too ridiculous. After a moment's hesitation, he did anyway. “Like we're some sort of a couple or something.”

He hadn't meant to lose his cool like this, but he didn't understand. He was sure Oswald was playing some sort of a game with him, but to what ends he had no idea. Normally, this was the point where he’d grab Oswald and shake the answers out of him. However, Oswald’s caress had made him wary of getting too close until he knew what on earth was going on.

“Last night… All the visits you made to my home… I had thought…” Oswald’s eyes shone bright, his hands trembled. He seemed to want to reach out for Jim, but he restrained himself. Instead he held them up in a gesture that Jim supposed was meant to be placating. It wasn't. “I’m confused. Are you saying you don't remember any of it?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Oswald. I haven't seen you for months.” He wasn't making sense, but Oswald wasn't crazy. Jim knew that. He was certainly not the most balanced person that Jim had met, but he wasn't delusional. He also didn't appear to be lying.

“That's not possible, I… You came to my club, you rescued me from…” He cut himself off suddenly, as if he remembered something or it occurred to him that whatever he had been about to say would be incriminatory. His face went from wounded to stormy in a flash. “I have to go.”

“What the- No. Explain to me what’s going on.” He caught hold of Oswald's arm and held firm when the other man tried to shake him off.

“You needn't concern yourself with this any further, Jim!” Oswald snapped at him, and he continued to try to wrench his arm free from his grasp. The fondness he had regarded Jim with only moments ago had vanished. It was obvious he was angry about something, but beyond that he also seemed humiliated, like he couldn't wait to get out of Jim’s presence so he would be free of his questions and his gaze. His face had grown steadily paler when Jim told him he had no recollection of visiting and certainly not of spending the night with him, but now it was rosy with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

He understood why he felt that way. It had become apparent during their conversation that someone had been impersonating him, and for reasons Jim didn't understand yet, that person had formed a relationship with Oswald. That was cruel. Regardless of how much he disapproved of Oswald's criminality and his ruthlessness, it must have been devastating to find out he had been deceived. 

Jim hadn't realised that Oswald harboured a secret attraction for him, but he could think about that later. The pressing matter was finding this fraud, and stopping him before he caused any more trouble. Perhaps his only goal was to hurt Oswald, but impersonating a GCPD detective so convincingly was a very dangerous skill for someone to have. 

There was only one person that Jim could think of that had that skill.

He had been created by Strange at Indian Hill, and some of the guys down at the GCPD had nicknamed him Clayface. Apparently, Barbara had smacked him across the face and his flesh had been mashed and shaped by the impact. 

He hadn't known what had happened to him after he escaped custody, but there was no reason to think he couldn't be behind this.

“Oswald, whoever you were with, it wasn't me. He could be dangerous. We have to-” He had been about to offer his help in finding him, but before he could explain his theory, a hard blow landed on the back of his head and knocked him to the floor. He had no idea who had done it, but as he sank to the ground, fading into unconsciousness, he heard Oswald thank someone called Victor. Jim hoped to God it wasn't Victor Zsasz.

\--

Basil ran out of the house and into the surrounding greenery. He didn't take his car. He didn't know exactly where he was going, he just needed to get out. 

It didn't make any sense. He didn't understand it. 

How could Fries stand to be in the same house as the man who had based his Mayoral campaign on calling people like them freaks and monsters? How could he call him a friend?

Had he gone into their 'friendship’ hating Oswald as Basil had? 

It was crazy. 

Oswald must have manipulated the poor guy somehow. 

Basil could have kicked himself for starting to actually feel fond of him. He was a fool.

He had to wrap this charade up. He had gotten what he wanted. Oswald was in love with him. He had his heart in his hands, and now it was time to squeeze it.

Anymore hesitating and he would just get confused. 

He stood up straight and took deep gulps of air into his lungs to calm himself down. 

“Pull yourself together, Basil.” He said under his breath, and with that, he got into his car in the driveway and drove off. He would return that evening and initialise the final part of his revenge.

At first, he hadn't known exactly what he was going to do to close his retribution. Heartbreak was always the goal, but he wanted it to be as painful as possible. He wanted Oswald to never recover from it. He wanted more than a few tears and some maudlin despairing about how no one ever truly loved him. He wanted devastation.

Initially he had thought Oswald didn't have a heart. Not really. Only an ego. So he had thought he would attack that. He had thought he would break up with him as publically and demeaningly as possible. Then he would send pictures of him naked and in compromising positions to every gossip magazine and every one of his criminal rivals that he could find. 

His plan had changed a bit from that, because he had realised that Oswald did have a heart. He hadn't wanted to see it at first but he couldn't deny it anymore. He was still an awful excuse for a human being, but it was clear he craved love for more reasons than simple pride and entitlement.

He had taken that into consideration. 

In the evening, he would go to Oswald and make love to him, but this time he would end the night by slipping out the door and leaving a note on the pillow beside him. Basil already knew what it would read.

It would say that he was a shapeshifter created by Hugo Strange and he had done everything to break Oswald's heart. It would explain that he held Oswald responsible for the deaths of many of his brothers and sisters, and he thought he was a cruel, self centred little man with no right to love or happiness. It would close with the assertion that Jim Gordon would never love him, because he had spent weeks watching him as preparation for this role, and he was a good man. Nothing at all like Oswald. It was pathetic that he had believed him, because if he had stopped to think about it for just a second, he would have realised how preposterous it was that Jim would want anything to do with him, that Jim could stand to touch him without gagging. That anyone could.

In other words, it would say the truth.

Or what Basil told himself was the truth. As hard as he fought to deny it, he had grown fond of Oswald. 

Oswald deserved worse than he was getting, he deserved for his heart to stop, not just be broken. Basil told himself he wasn't killing him because he needed Oswald to live with the knowledge that the only man who had ever loved him was a fraud who had pretended to care for him only out hate. But part of him was glad he wouldn't be there to see his face when he read the letter. When he thought of that, he didn't feel the satisfaction he had originally expected, only a dull ache inside of his chest that was impossible to ignore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your supreme patience and for reading until the end.

Basil smiled when he saw Oswald, and he would be lying to himself if he tried to believe it was entirely fake. Although, he had become a very good liar. Recently, he had been lying more often than he had been telling the truth, so why shouldn’t he also lie to himself and pretend that he felt nothing but contempt for Oswald?

He could lie to himself and pretend that he had hated being his lover. He could lie and pretend he hadn’t found some strange beauty in how the other man had gasped and moaned in his arms, clinging to his false body, making it feel real.

“Oswald.” He said, the smile lingering on his lips, “You look great.” 

That definitely wasn’t a lie.

Oswald was dressed to perfection. In smart evening wear, black, with purple lining and a pocket square that was startling white. The glass of wine he had been drinking from was half empty, the bottle emptier still, but his face showed no signs of intoxication. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm. 

“Thank you, Jim.” 

Perhaps a little too calm. But Basil’s mind was distracted by his own task, he did not suspect that anything was wrong. He did not think that Oswald may have discovered his secret.

“You look perfect, as always. Very dashing.” 

“Oh come on.” Basil shook his head, “Don’t flatter me. I look rough as hell and you know it. That pocket square probably costs as much as my whole outfit.”

Oswald stood up from his chair and took a few steps towards him. Basil did what came naturally to him, he didn’t even need to think about it. He pressed one hand to Oswald’s cheek, leant down a little, and kissed him. 

When that kiss ended, he kissed him again, and then Oswald was kissing him. Pulling him by the front of the shirt, leaning into him, kissing him until their lips hurt and they were both short of breath.

“Shall we?” He asked, eager to go upstairs, and not just because that was his plan. Impatience was clawing at the inside of his gut, not for revenge, but for sex. He wanted to tear off those expensive clothes, and forget about revenge until the next morning. 

Basil noticed that Oswald’s eyes were bright. Tears had started to cling to his eyelashes. He didn’t say anything, and Basil suddenly felt like he had misunderstood everything. Like he had overlooked something. 

In an instant, Oswald’s face twisted into rage, and there was a scream, and pain, sharp, stabbing pain. Over and over, in his stomach, in his chest. 

He tried to speak, but he was already sinking to the ground. 

He wanted to explain. 

He wanted to tell Oswald what he had done and why. He even wanted to tell him he loved him, as stupid as that was. He hated him, but he loved him too.

The last sound he heard before it went black was Oswald telling him it was no use, he knew everything.

But he didn’t. 

It wasn't fair. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Basil tried once more to tell him the truth, but it was too late.

\--

Jim woke up in a small, neatly furnished room with a splitting headache. It took him a while to remember where he was, but when he did, he grunted and tried desperately to get up. When he managed, he was forced back down with strong hands.

“Wait here. Penguin said to keep you here til he’s done with the fake.”

Victor Fries. He supposed that he had been the one who knocked him out.

Jim grimaced as he rubbed the bruise that was forming on the back of his head. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“A few hours. I offered to freeze you until he was ready, but Penguin said it wasn’t necessary.”

“Nice of him.” Jim muttered sarcastically. “I don’t suppose you could give me a bit of ice for my head, eh?”

Fries didn’t reply, and Jim was fine with that. He just wanted to speak with Oswald. He wanted to know more about what the hell had been going on with him and his double.

He waited for what seemed like hours, and then, the door opened. 

“It’s done.” Oswald told Fries, and Jim had no illusions about what that meant. 

He was frustrated. He had questions, and now it was all down to Oswald on whether he got any answers.

“You want me to ice him?”

“Just get him out of here.” 

Fries left them alone, and Oswald took one of the two seats that were placed in the room. In a small act of defiance, Jim remained on the floor. 

“I could arrest you for murder.” He said, frowning when his threat was met with Oswald scoffing. 

“Murder? Of who? You? You seem quite well to me, Jim. Well, besides a bump on your head.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. 

When Oswald was acting like this, impertinent and uncooperative, it was easy to forget that he was allegedly in love with him. Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps his double had just managed to seduce him while being in his form. 

But that still suggested that Oswald harboured, at the very least, a physical attraction for him. The idea was a little unsettling, mostly because Jim wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It made him look back on all their previous interactions, especially a few years ago, when Oswald had just been a weaselly double agent, a snitch, a nobody… He had looked at Jim with such wide, pleading eyes then. Eager for attention. Eager for something. 

Jim felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

“Oswald, I want to know what happened between you and Clayface.”

Oswald glanced over at him, then returned his gaze to something in the distance. His expression softened for a moment, then immediately grew hard. Stubborn.

Damn it.

“Oswald.”

“You can go now, Jim.”

“I’ve got a right to know. I mean, for God’s sake, he was using my face to get to you.”

Oswald let out a short, hurt sigh, and moved his face to the side so Jim could no longer see what expression fell on his birdlike features. He regretted raising his voice at him. He wasn’t doing a very good job at getting him to talk. 

“Just go. I’ve had a long day, and frankly, I’ve had enough of you, and people who look like you, to last a lifetime.”

Could he have pushed more? Probably.

Would it have gotten him the answers he wanted? Probably not.

Jim did as he was told, and he left Oswald alone. 

\--

Oswald didn’t return to the scene of the crime until he was sure it was clean. Spotless. Like nothing had happened there.

A week had passed, but as his life moved quickly, Basil (he knew that was his real name now) almost seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Looking back on it, he couldn't believe he had been so stupid.

Of course Jim, the real Jim, would never have loved him.

Basil might have been a convincing lover, but he had been a terrible actor.

Oswald couldn't help but wonder if it had all been fake. If, for a moment, Basil had felt something other than hatred for him. If he had actually wanted to forget his plans for revenge and continue loving him as Jim Gordon.

No.

It was easier to think that he hadn’t. 

He had come after Oswald for his crimes against the Indian Hill monsters. That was all. 

He had used love as a weapon against Oswald. He had tried to soften his heart and mould it into something he could manipulate, then break.

“Oh. I, uh. I didn't expect to see you down here.” 

Oswald was brought out of his contemplations by Ivy, and he gave her a look that would have made most people wither. But Ivy wasn't ‘most people’. 

“How you feeling? It’s like you’ve been avoiding everyone since Clayface-”

“Ivy.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Ivy paused for a moment, but then she persisted. “I’m sorry by the way, I thought he really liked you-”

“Well he didn't.” He snapped, and this time Ivy did wither.

This was who he really was. 

Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin. Cold and ruthless and bad to the bone. 

He didn't have friends, he had associates. 

He didn't have lovers, he had himself.

He swore on Basil’s memory that he would never let himself be taken advantage of again. He would honour his doomed pursuit for revenge by being every bit the cruel crime lord that he had thought he was, and more.

And he would try to forget how wonderful it had felt when he had believed that Jim Gordon was in love with him.


End file.
